


five things jack stops doing after ianto dies (and one thing he doesn't)

by aellesiym



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Gen, M/M, Mild canon divergence, cw: suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23552173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aellesiym/pseuds/aellesiym
Summary: After Ianto dies, Jack is at a loss.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57





	five things jack stops doing after ianto dies (and one thing he doesn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Mild canon divergence in that Jack stays in Cardiff after the events of CoE.

Torchwood died with Ianto.

After, Jack floats around Cardiff, aimless, trying to figure out what’s next. Gwen finds him a flat close to her own – without the Hub, he needs a place to stay.

It’s strange. Jack doesn’t do flats. And yet here he is, new keys in hand.

#### 1.

Now, when Gwen opens his cupboard, it’s all tea. The sheer variety in brand and quality tells her that Jack doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just needs to do _something_ – and that something is purchasing horrid tea.

She doesn’t question it. She knows why.

Knows that if she pushes the boxes aside, she’ll find coffee beans.

The first time Jack orders a cup of coffee, Gwen winces, knowing what’ll happen, watches as it plays out across his face – the sudden realisation, the crash of memories as it all surges back, unbidden, and Gwen knows it’s tearing his heart to shreds and she can’t do anything but watch, watch and remember.

Remembers Ianto and his coffee; incomparable. He always knew exactly when they needed a cup.

She needs one now.

It reminds her losing Rhys, once upon a time. That memory has long since scabbed over, but – if she prods at it—

She can’t. It’d open up too much. She loves this job – loved it, rather – and it almost destroyed her.

It’s _annihilating_ Jack.

He won’t ever admit it to her, she doesn’t think, but he walks like a man with nothing left to lose.

She misses Ianto, misses the smiles they shared, passing an unspoken joke, misses his snark, but God, she can’t even _begin_ to imagine how Jack feels. He won’t cry, not here, not out in public, but he watches the barista work and all of the sudden Gwen can see what he must be remembering; there’s Ianto and he’s coaxing something heavenly out of their own temperamental coffee machine, handing it over with a slight grin, fingers brushing—

But the barista isn’t Ianto and the coffee isn’t Ianto’s coffee and all Jack does is thank him through gritted teeth and a forced smile.

As they leave, Jack hands her the cup and refuses to meet her eyes. “I can’t, Gwen. I can’t do this.”

Even before she takes a sip, she knows it’ll be _wrong_.

She’s not seen Jack with coffee since.

#### 2.

Jack didn’t care for movies, his life was already fantastical enough.

It was Ianto who changed that; his unparalleled love for James Bond was infectious.

_Jones, Ianto Jones._ That was how he had introduced himself, wasn’t it? Once, long ago, before everything.

Maybe he’d still be alive if they’d never met.

It’s two in the morning and he’s sat on Gwen’s sofa, staring at a blank television screen. After dinner, she’d all but ordered him to stay the night.

She was right to, he’s worse than usual.

And yet – can a universe without Ianto Jones ever be _usual_?

It takes him some time before he notices it. It can’t be Ianto’s – he remembers his shaking hands, clutching the spare key.

Remembers letting himself into Ianto’s flat, after.

Ianto isn’t there.

It’s so very empty.

Remembers standing in the entryway, motionless, wondering what the _fuck_ he’s supposed to do, now.

And he’s looking at the remnants of Ianto’s life, crying, realising, _this is all that’s left of him, now_ , and Jack can’t do anything except lock it all away.

But before he does—

He’s in Ianto’s wardrobe, running a hand over his clothes, pressing the fabric to his cheek.

It still smells of him.

And that’s when Jack buries his head in one of Ianto’s suits, thinking, _Ianto would hate this, me getting his clothes dirty_ , but the tears don’t stop.

They still haven’t.

He wants to ask for Gwen’s help; he’s unable to.

This is his fault, his mess.

His _job_.

It’s always his job, dealing with the aftermath.

Still, despite his efforts, they’re _here_ , at Gwen’s: the first twenty-one Bond movies.

And then he’s back in Ianto’s flat and they’re sprawled across the sofa, Ianto in his lap and a heavy blanket over the both of them, illuminated only by the television screen. Ianto’s silent – he always was, during movies – and he’s breathing softly, a familiar weight in his arms.

Was.

_Was_ silent.

Will always be silent, now.

He’s crying again. The empty space beside him, shouldn’t be.

#### 3.

The strangest thing about Jack’s new flat, Gwen thinks, is the lack of clocks – there’s not a single functional timepiece in the already spartan rooms. Or on Jack’s person, for that matter.

And so, time slips by, uncounted.

Asking Jack for the date would be futile – she suspects that he’d give a wholly incorrect answer. She doesn’t ask. She also isn’t wrong.

Perhaps, it’s the precision that reminds Jack of him.

It always had been Ianto who kept track of these things – he’d be incredibly meticulous about it, too, with that bloody stopwatch of his, counting the seconds, making each one meaningful.

Until Ianto himself ran out of seconds.

And without Ianto, time must have become insignificant, blurring together, becoming one moment that is simply, _after_.

After Torchwood.

After Ianto.

There’s nothing left for him to hold onto now, is there. And when that’s all there is, it’s no wonder Jack has stopped keeping time.

Because it doesn’t matter.

#### 4.

Sometimes, now, she takes Jack out to eat. And sometimes, when she does, she happens upon a restaurant where—

_Where Ianto's ordered the same thing off the menu, again, and Jack is teasing him for it, saying, “Why don't you live a little. For me.”_

Or—

_Where the food is untouched and Ianto's laughing at some shit joke he's made, it's not even particularly funny but because it’s him, Ianto loves it._

_Where Ianto kisses him, pulling him in from across the table and he’s taken by surprise – it's not like him to be affectionate in public but just this once, he is._

_Where he first took Ianto out for dinner, and even though he’s Captain Jack Harkness his heart his pounding and he’s nervous, but – Ianto doubly so._

And there’s more, so much more, so many places where Ianto still lingers, a trace of him that’s still present, scattered across the city – _there, Ianto took his hand; here, he purchased Jack’s new coat_ – and all he can do is keep going, press onwards, his memories haunting him with every step.

It doesn’t take long before he asks Gwen to stop. She means well and for that, he’s grateful, but Ianto is everywhere and nowhere at the same time and he doesn’t know what else to do. Even at places he’s never been previously he’ll catch himself thinking, _I should bring Ianto here_ before realising that he can’t, that Ianto will never again sit across from him, not anymore.

Not ever.

#### 5.

There's something about the rooftops that comforts Jack, something in the open air, the way the city sprawls out beneath him and he can watch the thousands and thousands of people go about their day, intersecting, the old and the new shoving up against one another, jostling for space, finding compromise, the glittering lights and the lapping waves and rumbling trains and simply, amongst it all, life.

So much life.

He tries to seek solace in its heights, after, but instead of looking out now he just looks down, calculating the drop.

It’d be _so_ easy.

He looks down and wonders if he’ll see Ianto in the brief darkness before he wakes. He doesn’t know which is worse. Doesn’t want to find out.

Up here, with the wind rustling against his coat, it’s so easy to feel disconnected from it all, to look down and think that nothingness is better than the pain – he _is_ nothing with this pain, this all-consuming, ever-present, pain.

He’s lost so much already; he should know how it feels, know how to push past it.

He can’t. Not this time.

One day, the world will forget about Ianto. Brilliant, clever, Ianto Jones, who saved the world countless times over and burnt so brightly; the man who, despite Jack’s many, many lifetimes, he would always come back for.

There’s no one there for him now.

And so, Jack remembers. It’s the only thing he can do, now. Remembers how Ianto always believed that he would forget.

He closes his eyes, sitting down onto the ledge. Stares out at the city.

The city is life, has always been life, wrought from human hands and human lives building up and out and over, spilling across the landscape, grasping for more. There’s so much life and yet, it’s empty – it’s missing one.

Jack sighs. _Not today._

But he knows – he just _knows_ – if he returns, he’ll try to find Ianto.

He looks down. Cardiff continues on, oblivious to him.

#### *.

And then he’s running again, running away from it all; he’s always running, always leaving, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

He can’t stay, not on this planet, not on _his_ planet.

“Jack, you _can’t_.”

“Just watch me,” he says, and then he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I'm on tumblr @[aellesiym](https://aellesiym.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
